Rules and Duties
by Lord of the Saiyans
Summary: In the battlefields of the 41st Millennium there is only Death, And boy, is he pissed off.
1. Nightbringer

The great Necron city of the Dead had been hidden from prying eyes for more centuries than the Imperium had existed. Concealed by the warped metals it was built from, and the strange cloud of energy it surrounded itself with, it had been laying in wait since the C'Tans' sleep. Waiting, for their return. Inside it was bigger than it looked, a planet in its own right. A world of death, the walls were grim and etched with pictures of Necrons and their ghastly genesis. Here, a thousand Monoliths waited in neat rows. Nether sleeping nor waking but in the same in-between state as their master. There, an army of Necrons headed by a Lord. Cold and still, dust gathered around them but there was an air of menace, a subtle hint that though they were not alive now, they very soon would be. Outside the city, a small fleet by Necron standards -- a thousand Tombships and millions of smaller escorts, were preparing to return to the service of the C'tan. This was the Necrons at their height, not as they galaxy had seen them so far, but fully active, fully powered Necrons bent finally on finishing what they had started and harvesting the stars of life. Gathered here in this one spot, there were more Necrons than the Imperium had ever encountered. A great host of the skeletal wretches waiting on only one thing. Their master.

Further down, delving into the depths of the city it became more eerie still. Harsh green light filled the corridors and illuminated the still forms of the guardians, ancient Necrons of a type not yet encountered by humanity. Their sole purpose the defence of the tomb. Inside the tomb it was a grim picture; a sarcophagus glowing green as it transferred energy and power into the body of the C'tan slumbering within. Surrounded by many Lords and Guardians to ensure the process was not interrupted. In only a few minutes it would be done and then the Nightbringer would rise once more to lead his armies across the galaxy and devour all sentient life. Nothing could stop them now, there was no time for anything but divine intervention.

The C'Tan, sleeping within the coffin was in a strange half-state, lingering between wakefulness and sleep. It was weak, so weak, so long without nourishment had brought it close to the brink of death, and indeed it might even have gone over that dark precipice if not for the actions of the Dark Eldar and the Space Marines. It triggered a flash of grim amusement within the Nightbringer that the Eldar of all races had had a hand in its resurrection. It had quite enjoyed draining them of their life-forces. Drinking down their souls. Eldar souls, evens ones so badly scarred by the touch of the Immaterial Realm were a rare delicacy in these days. It had drunk them dry, with each soul devoured new strength returning to it. Then it had turned its attention to the Space Marines. Briefly looking into their feeble minds and learning of all they stood for. That was where things had gone wrong, the commander of the marines had stopped it, threatened it! Such a thing should have been impossible, the Nightbringer was beyond threats from mere food items. Except that it had been weak and the marine had been able to bring the entire cave-system crashing down around them. Such a weak attack could not have harmed it of course but it could have forced it to spend energy and time digging itself out -- energy it did not have. In the old days, it would have simply phased its way through, or perhaps blown the rubble away. Yes, imagining that brought a smile to its face. But no, it could not have afforded the risk and it had been forced to flee. Shame! But all that the Marine Captain had succeeded in doing was making an enemy, the C'Tan had promoted him from food to annoyance and it would take great pleasure in forcing him to watch as his beloved Imperium was destroyed by the hands of the Necrons. There would be such slaughter! Oceans of blood, miles of gore spread out and steaming -- so many souls, agonized, helpless souls that would make it strong again. Then it would seek out its siblings that had survived. There had been a betrayal, the Deceiver would be made to pay. After that, the galaxy was the Nightbringer's to do with as it willed. It would spread its forces out, bringing death as it had done so many millenniums before. The slaughter would be absolute, no survivors, so many souls to be devoured, so much strength to be reclaimed. The Nightbringer would live up to its name, of that it was certain.

A soft sound interrupted its dark musings. A sort of soft scrapping of metal on stone. Instantly, the Nightbringer knew one important fact: Whatever made it was not Necron. Where were its guards? The Lords? Where were the soldiers it had called to defend it while it rested? Of them it could feel not a trace. With an angry thought, it gathered its strength, it was not yet fully restored but it would be enough to deal with this interloper. It would be enough to show it the power of the C'Tan! It reached out with its powers, seeking a fragile soul to devour. It found... nothing. It was like hitting mist, insubstantial and impossible to locate never mind strike at. There was certainly something there, but what it was was certainly no soul that the ancient C'Tan had ever encountered.

Intrigued and angered, it summoned its strength and rose from the sarcophagus, like a black smog its weapon formed in hand -- a heavily stylized scythe designed to remind a victim of their own mortality even as they were presented with the C'Tan's greatness. A humanoid figure stood before the raised dais that supported its resting place. Of the guards there was no sign, but the Nightbringer quickly dismissed them from its mind when it saw the weapon that the puny humanoid held so dearly -- a scythe! Made of steel, by the look of it. Except now that it looked closer, it was more than steel. The C'Tan possessed senses light-years ahead of any human and they were currently telling it that was no mere weapon. The edges seemed to taper, growing ever thinner but never ending. Always shrinking, until the blade held an infinite sharpness. A faint blue glow surrounded it, like the light of distant stars. Lastly, the C'Tan felt power radiating from the weapon in waves. A dark robe covered the figure's body and something was stopping the C'Tan from probing it with its abilities.

The Nightbringer struck the first blow, barraging the intruder with a series of visions and sensations -- slaughter death genocide, fields of rotting corpses and above all, the joy and power of the C'Tan. Though it didn't use words, it was clear the meaning of the Star God _"This is what I am, this is what I do. Tremble before me and bow, though it will do you no good."_

The figure was unaffected, the Nightbringer hissed, annoyed despite itself. Its power curled around it like a mist, licking up around the figure. Still, the intruder knew no fear and the Nightbringer was angered.

It summoned more visions, each one more brutal and horrifying than the last, again the message was clear: _" This is MY universe! You are nothing here, no species is anything but food. Behold the might of the C'Tan and despair."_

At last, the figure looked up, the shadows hiding its face save for its eyes, those were blue as infinity and as piercing as a super-nova.

" **There are Rules." ** The voice was as distinctive as the eyes. Like distant tomb-stones slamming together, like the final sound a living being might here. If any true God existed in this twisted place, then it would have had a voice like this. **" And there are Duties. Everything living creature is bound by Rules and Duties. Except you. You do as you will and take what you desire? You devour the souls of any who stand against you, and laugh at their demise. You believe that you are somehow exempt. Because of your higher power you are free to do as you will?"**

The C'Tan shifted, feeling power course through it in preparation for its attack, this figure was making it uncomfortable for some reason, it was feeling strange, a sort of prickly sensation. Was it fear? Impossible! Nothing could rival it for power or cruelty.

" **But the Rules have been broken, the Duties discarded. The souls don't go to their final fate, they go to you and to the other abominations. No longer. This state of things Just. Will. Not. Do."**

The final four words slammed into place like a deceleration of war and the figure raised its scythe -- and now the ancient C'Tan knew that it had not been mistaken. The blades went on to infinity, ecer smaller and sharper, never ending. Enough to sever a soul from a body, enough to harm the fabric of reality itself. No mere weapon this, nor had it been touched by the Warp. It wasn't even technological in nature.

The figure continued, **" You consider yourself Gods, and maybe you are correct. Gods are just belief after all. And belief you have in plenty. But let me tell you, that beyond the mortal, beyond the divine, beyond everything you have seen or sensed there is one more reality. One final reality."**

Risking another probe, the Nightbringer found itself drawn farther and farther into the interloper's essence, it was empty... but yet it was not. There was a force of motivation, there were thoughts, ideas, but there was no soul. There was no life.

The figure looked up from its scythe, the dark hood falling from its head to reveal polished white bone gleaming in the green light. A grinning skeleton in place of a head and in its eyes... the deep blue glow of infinity. Suddenly, and for the first time ever, the Nightbringer knew fear. As it gazed into those orbs, those portals into space. Its full range of super-human senses barraged the intruder but it could find no opening. This being had no soul and yet it was not Warp-touched, it was not Eldar, it was not Ork, or was not divine. Finally, the Nightbringer detected a tiny hint of mortality, a small spark buried deep inside the great fort of the creature's being. It wasn't a soul... it was an origin. It carried a faint taste, but one that the Nightbringer knew well. Human. But not of human origin.... human belief... humans had somehow given life to this thing.

The Grim Reaper grinned, though due to the state of his face he was always doing this, and spoke, **" When you create fear you create belief. When there is enough belief it takes a form of its own. You should know this; it is how the Emperor retains his power after all. Did you think there was no consequences to what you did? You terrified every being in the universe, made them believe with all their hearts and souls, believe in death not in you, not in the C'Tan. But in me. In the Grim Reaper. You took death and gave it a form and a mind and a will of its own. You took an unthinking force of nature and you created... me."**

The C'tan struck like lightening channelling its essence into a single powerful strike. The cloaked skeleton didn't even twitch.

" **But I am not like you -- I am both younger and so much older. I was with you when you were first given form, I was there during the war with the Old Ones. I was given substance by the minds of humans, of Eldar and of all thinking beings. I have Rules, I have Duties. All beings have a time, and all beings die."**

The face turned once more to meet that of the C'tan

" **And your time... is over."**

Suddenly, there was a flash as the blade sharp enough to sever souls made contact with the smoggy form of the Nightbringer. The great C'tan let out one last scream and then... dispersed.

The Grim Reaper, the Ultimate Reality seemed to grin to himself. **" One down, many more to go. I have a lot of work to do before this universe can be brought back from the brink. Now let me see.... next stop is someone called Khorn."  
**

The Grim Reaper vanished without a trace.

In the 41st Millennium, on the battlefields, in space, on the worlds overrun by Chaos, there is only Death. Death which stalks the land with a scythe sharp enough to sever souls, Death which comes for all, Imperium, Chaos and Eldar alike. Death who guards their souls into they are safely away and Death who stands like a floodgate against the infinite blackness, between Daemons and Warp-Gods and the souls of the slain. A silent guardian, never to be recognised by the living. The final hold-out of things which had long past.

The last hope many have for a peaceful afterlife, the salvation of countless billions. The one who stands between the Gods of the Warp and the dead, the one who holds up his hand against them and with his sombre voice and his laws and his duties, he says **" No."**

It is the 41st Millennium and Imperium and Chaos alike are crumbling, but from the ashes of this, maybe one day there will be a new guardian of the souls, maybe belief will switch to something else and Death, like so much else, will smoulder away forgotten and losing strength. But until then, he will stand. Against Chaos, against the Emperor against any who would tear souls from their rightful resting place.

It is his mission. It is his duty.


	2. Horus

Horus, Warlord of the former Emperor of Mankind and Chosen of the four True Gods awoke with a small scream of hatred. Rising to his full, magnificent height he bellowed a battlecry and his hand went for his weapon and–

– it wasn't there. He paused. That wasn't like him. The instructions drilled into his head by his so called ''father''' had been sure of that. If there was one thing that old fool had taught him it was the value of a good weapon at your side. He shook his head as though to clear a lingering headache. To his mounding horror, he found that he was not only absent all his weapons but his armour seemed effected as well. The servos all seemed to be none-functional and it was an effort just to move. A lesser being might have been bound by the heavy suit of offline armour but he was a Primarch. The single greatest of all his traitorous fathers many sons. With a small grunt of effort, he rose to his feet.

By now he was not surprised to find that his helmet was gone. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he drew out the power bequeathed to him as his true birthright. The strength of Chaos Undivided flowed like a glorious river into his body. Yes, that was better. Now, what did he remember? The last few seconds were a terrible mixture of feelings, sensations... He recalled a brilliant light, a feeling of triumphant victory! He had won! The Emperor lay dead, his fool of a brother died short before him. He still remembered the meaty sound of his weapon ripping through armour; of his brother's shocked and betrayed look as the last of his life-blood flowed from his veins. Horus licked his lips as he remembered the betrayal. So sweet... And then his lost cause of a father had tried to reason with him, tried to _stop him. _ He had feared the power that Horus had mastered. The old man had attempted to lock away something that would never die and had paid the price.

A jolt of Warp lightning seared from his fingertips as he thought this. Yes, his father had felt the consequences of his foolish crusade against that which was more than he could ever be. He was dead now... Horus was sure. Though the last few seconds were a blur of motion. He struggled to sort his memories out, to make sense of what he had seen and done.

He remembered fighting and killing his angel-winged brother.

He remembered facing his father and laughing in the face of the old fool's refusal to strike back at full power. As though Horus were simply some misguided child that could be brought to heel with stern words and a show of kindness.

He remembered the lone guardsman. The man who had come upon the end of the fight. He was scared nearly witless by the varied glories of Chaos that his ship now played host to. He was wounded, bleeding. His soul had called out to Horus like a small flame in the darkest night.

He remembered the guardsman's cry of rage and horror upon seeing the fallen form of the dying Emperor.

He remembered the fool throwing himself between the Emperor and his son, as though a mere _human _ could get between two warring Gods.

He remembered killing the guardsman with a contemptuous ease. Feeling the energies of his soul as it was sapped by the ship.

He remembered his father's cry of rage, the sudden strength that seemed to flow into the old man. He remembered some power snatching the guardsman's soul from Horus grasp.

He remembered the blinding light.

Horus was assailed by a sudden, dizzying doubt. Why could he not remember the death-blow? Surely he would not have been foolish enough to leave his father there, dying yet still with strength to him? Such would be foolishness of the highest magnitude. Even in his former life as a slave to the decrepit Emperor he never would have been so monumentally stupid as to leave a living enemy at his back. So why then could he not recall just how he had won the fight? Unless...but it was a foolish thought. He couldn't have lost. The powers of Chaos Undivided were unchallenged, not even his father could prove to be more than an insect to be crushed at will.

So where was he then...?

"**This is the desert. You must walk it alone."  
**

Horus spun with a jolt of speed faster than the un-augmented eye could follow. His right hand reached out and launched a searing volloy of Warp Lightning, enough to cook the body like overripe meat and to send the soul screaming into whatever Hell the Great Four deigned appropriate for striking at their champion. The humanoid figure in the deep black cloak staggered back. Fat sparks leapt about and spat off his body as he righted himself and rose to his full height. It was not very impressive. For a human he might have been threatening, a cold, demanding figure clothed in darkness. But Horus was a Primarch and Chosen of the Four True Gods. No mere mortals could stop him. He charged intent on smashing his massive fist through the suicidal idiot's chest and crushing him once and for all.

The mortal stopped him.

Horus was never sure just what happened next. Even for a Primarch who moved so fast as to be invisible to the mortal eye what happened next was impossible to follow. His fist struck at the figure, the body seemed hollow...empty. It gave way immediately. But there was not that most satisfying crunch of meat and bone breaking under his assault. Merely, an emptiness. A void. Then he was tumbling, losing his footing as he smacked face-first into the sand around him. Rolling, he rose with a bellow of rage. He called upon all the strength given to him by his patrons and let loose a sizzling, spitting orb of flames. It didn't work quite as he had planned. His reserves began to wan as soon as he started the spell and with a chocked cry of surprise he felt it fail. _What happened? _ He raged to himself.

His mysterious opponent answered.

" **Your masters are withdrawing their support."**

"And how would you know?" Horus sneered. " A foolish human like you shouldn't even be in my presence. You aren't even worthy to lick my boots."

" **I am impressed." **The spectre continued totally ignoring Horus's insult. Now the Primarch noted the strangeness, the emptiness that the figure seemed to spread about it like a cloak. The sombre tones of its voice that reverberated inside his head. **"Most spirits cannot retain cohesion for long after death. I suggest you refrain from any more activity."**

Horus opened his mouth to retort but before he could say anything he fell to his knees. Agony pounded through his body. The worst pain he had ever felt.

"What did you do?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

"**I did nothing. Your illusions are being stripped away."**

Horus's retort was cut short. Again he saw himself strike down his brother, Sanguinius. But though he saw the same image now he felt none of the triumph that had marked his mind so recently. Now he saw the image of his beloved brother and trusted friend. Who he had fought by side with for so many years. Now he saw the flash of betrayal in his brother' eyes and felt not the joy that he had once thought to. Now he felt a stab of regret and shame. Now he saw the life leave his brother, bleeding onto the floor of his own starship and he wanted to scream.

"AAARGH!" He growled, clutching his head. " Stop it! This is lie. You...you're not a mortal but you are not one of the True Gods. You are trying to twist my faith and I will not allow it!"

"**Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. I've never understood that sentence. It seems logical that an angel would be able to get out of any situation wherein a sufficiently foolish human could possibly get themselves into. But in your case... I believe it is appropriate."**

"What are you doing?" Horus gasped. More memories rose tugging at the heart strings he would have thought long since cut. He saw that same trooper who had put himself between Horus and the Emperor but this time he did not feel the smug sense of superiority. Now he felt sick. Sick as he watched himself kill the man without so much as a second glance. He saw the grim look in the man's eyes as he charged... that trooper knew he was going to die and he fought on anyway. Why? _Why? _ For a foolish Emperor who was not worthy of the True Gods? Why had he stood and fought? Why had he given his life?

"**I told you before. Nothing. When one is dead the comforting little lies that one tells oneself all melt away. For most this is not particularly traumatic. For you... Well your recent life has been little but lies."**

Now he saw his Space Marines, his sons. His Luna Wolves. All marching in a strict formation. The memory brought a smile to his face and pride to his heart even now. That was on Terra. When he was the first to be found. His father had presented him to his Legion and for the first time since arriving Horus had known that he belonged. But he hadn't belonged surely? Even then he had known his father to be little but a petty tyrant who subjected the followers of the true power of the universe... hadn't he? Then why did he feel so proud that day? So proud that it reverberated even now in his damned and cursed soul.

Last, he saw his Emperor. His father. Lying on the ground in blood-stained armour. His hand up-raised as though to impeach Horus to end this madness. There was still time, his eyes seemed to say. Still time to turn back from the path of war. Horus had cackled and called him weak, insulted him and dared to wonder how such a weak man had produced a God like himself... But now he looked back on that scene with fresh eyes and he saw what really had happened. His father had sacrificed himself, his own blood on the alter to buy time for his favoured son to realise what he had done. And in the end, he had watched those same eyes harden. As the blood of the guardsman stained the ship's metal floor and swam and mixed in with that of his brother and his father. As that red fluid had united and flowed together as though it were the same... as though all of them were the same. Then he had saw the last of the love and the hope leave his father's eyes.

At the time he had laughed again and known his victory was nigh but now... now he felt chilled to the very bone. _What have I done? Gods of the Warp what have I done?_

The whole war flashed before his mind's eye, all the killing, the brotherhood. The Legions apart and yet the same. His brothers and friends and his father all fighting and winning and battling side by side. All of it for humanity, all of it to secure a safe heaven so that one day... one day all the fighting, the marines and even Horus and his brothers would not be needed. That one day humanity might be at piece.

All gone now. Shattered. A dream destroyed by his own blood-stained hand. He who had urged his brothers to betray their father. He who had dragged some of them with him and drawn them into the embrace of the Warp. All the death, brother fighting brother. All the souls sent screaming by unjust demise. It all came down to him.

All down to him.

And he saw again, the bright searing light. And felt the agony of his body breaking apart, his very soul being ripped and obliterated.

" So I am dead then."

"**No."**

Horus looked up at the figure. Despite his smaller stature he seemed somehow to be taller than the Primarch. Horus still couldn't see his face but the man felt _ancient. _ Like how the Chaos Gods had felt save that this being had none of the edge of them. None of the raw hunger. He didn't exist to feed, he wasn't there to gorge on the souls of the fallen. He simply _existed. _

" **Your father destroyed your soul utterly in his final attack.. What you are now Lupercal is an idea."**

" So what waits for me...?"

"**Oblivion, paradise. One of the Hells perhaps. It is not my place to decide."**

" What do I do?" Demanded Horus, " So much blood is on my hands! I killed him, didn't I? My father... and my brother... and who knows how many others... what shall I do?" 

" **You will walk this desert. You will walk it alone. There are two paths you may take Horus Lupercal."**

A single bone finger rose and pointed into the distance, Horus, with his superhuman eyesight could just about make out a jagged-looking mountain.

" **That is where you may go to find what is in store for you."**

" What is it?"

"**Judgement."**

"**If, however you do not feel that you can face that there is a second path." **

Another hand rose, curling to a finger which pointed off into the distance. Even Horus could not see where the figure gestured to. All he knew was that it was very far away.

"**That is where you may go if you wish."  
**

"What is there there?"

The figure shrugged. **" It is different for each being. For you? I do not know. Only you can."**

Without another word, Horus set off. His monstrous frame seemed void of strength as he struggled like a newborn over dunes of sand.

"Which path is he choosing?" Asked a voice from beind the cloaked figure.

Death, Destroyer of Worlds, the Ultimate Reality and The One Before Whom All are Equal turned and regard the figure that had formed out of the mist.

" **I cannot tell. Though I gave direction in truth there is none. What he finds is what he can. With his heart and soul as guide."  
**

"His soul is ravaged and his heart is corrupted."

"**Yes." **Observed Death. **"If he can heal in time then he can perhaps find what he is looking for. If not... he is not even a spirit. Just a wild idea. A piece of history that never quite died. If he cannot earn his soul then he will wander for evermore."**

"Why did you tell him about the second path? You didn't have to."

"**Correct. Your pleas for him did not fall on deaf ears."**

The second figure laughed; his ornate power-armour seemed to glow with an inner light as he slapped the shroud-covered figure in the back with enough force to crush a tank. Death didn't even look winded.

"Though you have no ears I appreciate what you have done for me this day."

"**Then answer me this question." ** Said Death, turning to look at his companion for the first time since the conversation began. **"Why? Why him?"**

"In truth I do not know if I have an answer. But even after what he has done my soul aches to be with him as a brother and to heal him. To watch out for him. If we were born mortal it might be called a big brother instinct. Even after all he has done, I feel for him. Tell me please, if he is true to his soul and throws off the last taint of Chaos then what will he find out there? I know you said that you didn't know but I am also aware that you didn't tell him the whole truth."

"**I would rather not say. To the chances of him throwing off the taint are not good. Not after all he had done and witnessed."**

"Please."

Death was still for a moment. One might imagine that if he could have sighed he would have before he spoke a single word with all he weight of a proclamation from some God.

"**Redemption." **

The soul of the departed Primarch felt his lips curl into a small smile.

" That is all I ever wanted." 

Then without another word he turned, with a single flap of his great, angelic wings he was gone and Death was alone in the desert.

**Why do they do it? **He wondered. **Why did he wish a chance for his brother even after what had been done and could not be undone? Even with the taint so deep. **

**I do not think I will ever understand humans. **


	3. The Emperor

The Emperor of Mankind lay dying.

His blood pooled on the ground; mixing with that of the loyal guardsman, and with that of his son. There was shouting amid motion, but for once the Emperor was not the one at the head of it all. For the first time in his life, he felt weak.

The sounds of the chaos on the ship seemed far away from the great man now. Faded and muted; he was left alone. Alone with his own thoughts.

Horus...

How could he have been such a fool? Even as he though this,the Emperor was not sure whether he spoke of Horus or himself. His plan to deny the Chaos Gods worship in order to starve looked ridiculous now. It had resulted in the death of his son, and the corruption of so many others. How many more remained loyal? How many more were not at this moment dead or dying?

After all of his life; everything that he had done for mankind, was this how it was to end? This mockery? Here he lay, with the bodies of two of his most beloved sons. One who had died fighting for his ideal, the other had died trying to destroy it.

He had failed. Failed so utterly that now his empire lay in ruins around him. What would happen? Even he didn't know. He tried to reach into the currents of the future, but it was blocked to him. The Warp was chaotic, but it seethed...

The Gods thought they had bested him. He tasted it in the air; much like the crackling aftermath of Psyker powers. They had retreated when he struck at Horus, but even so he had felt the sensation.

They knew that they had won. Even if they were repulsed now, there was no Emperor to guide humanity now. No golden-armoured guardian for them to look up to, his Legions would hold for as long as they could be...

A pang of regret.

Not all of his Legions were loyal.

Regret was an emotion that he had ruthlessly suppressed for most of his life. He simply couldn't afford. In the pursuit of a future for mankind, sacrifices had to be made. Feeling sorry about them couldn't change that, so he didn't feel sorry. He directed his energy towards the future; towards his projects and his goals.

All that now had come crumbling down.

Now he lay dying and felt all the regret of the choices that he had made. Death should have been a release, but for the Emperor it was the worst form of failure. Death, yes. He was no fool. The damage he had taken, even he could not survive. He was dying, soon to be dead.

Leaving a crippled empire and a fledgling race with a potential for greatness that they would now never reach.

What a fool he had been.

"**God-Emperor of Man?" ** a voice of the kind that so far, only he had possessed. He looked around and saw a figure; as tall as he was, though more slender. It was covered by a dark robe, which the Emperor could not seem to sense beyond. His voice too, carried no psychic impulse as far as the ruler could discern. There was nothing of the Warp about this man; if man he was. And yet there was nothing of the world to him either. It was like being confronted by a ghost; a being in the shape of a man that was not one.

"Not god." He croaked; expecting pain from the motion. There was none. Ah, he was that far along already? It wouldn't be long now. The rest of the world seemed to be fading away; his body was borne away by his troops, but he stayed there.

"Where am I?"

"**You should know. You are on the bridge of the ship which until lately housed the Warmaster Horus in his attempts to finally rid the universe of the scourge you call an Imperium. His words."**

"That's not what I meant." The Emperor felt a flash of anger. Emboldened, he stood up – and felt no pain as his wounds seemed to fall away from his body. Once more, he stood at the peak of his strength; his golden armour gleamed. His sword blazed.

"**You are in the place between places. You are dying."**

"I knew that much." The Emperor admitted. He shook his head; regret still lingered about him like a heavy cloak. _Horus, why? _ But he knew why, didn't he? Oh yes, he'd felt it in his son's mind as he pierced, like a lance, destroying all he came across. He'd had to; there was no choice. The Guardsman who he had watched Horus flay so casually flashed through his mind.

No choice...

Always no damn choice.

The cloaked figure stood in silence for several moments, waiting or something that never came. Eventually, he made a coughing sound.

"**People usually have more questions for me...?"**

"I am dying."

"**Yes."**

"And I won't recover?"

"**People seldom do from death."**

"Then there is no point in more questions. Though, there is one thing I wish to know. Why are you here? Upon death,a soul is absorbed in to the Warp so why? Why do you need to escort me for such a simply thing? Do the Gods even now fear that I will cast them down?" A smirk formed across his face. Flitting so quickly that one without sharp eyes would never even notice at all. "If they're not careful, I just might."

There was another cough; despite the lack of any features the figure almost seemed...embaressed?

"**This is most irregular." **It admitted at last. **"It is true that usually a soul chooses where it goes after death, but its not usually this...literal."**

"Explain." He regained some of his command now; resolve hardening. Perhaps he was dead, and perhaps his choices had come to nothing, but until the very maw of oblivion took him, the Emperor would do what he always had.

"**You have two choices." ** The figure almost seemed to sigh. **"Nether of them I particularly like, but then no one consults me on these things." ** He said this with the air of one who had been long-suffering indeed. **"In the future, mankind will come to believe that you are a god. Belief has power, do you know?"**

"I'm no god." He snarled; remembering the cult that had been growing up around him despite his attempts to cull it. He despised such things; for they represented the very irrationality that he had fought against. The laziness of belief that required greater forces to exist, because it nullified one's own choices in fate. You can't win because you're fated not to, you didn't get the prize because the Gods liked someone else; the Emperor hated such thinking. All it took was a willingness to step forward despite the odds.

"**Belief makes gods." ** The figure seemed to shrug. **"Even if you're not one now, you can be. Belief is strange in how it operates. People in the future believe that at this point in time, you ascended and became a God of Order so at this point in time, you have that choice. Very few do."**

"How much belief does that take?" The Emperor most certainly was _not _boggled at the sheer amount of power it would take to warp reality to such an extreme. His plans to build a Psyker-human race sprang fresh to mind. Even in his wildest dreams, he'd never thought that they could have such power and now he was being told that people even now could do that?

"**The belief of billions of humans for more than thousands of years. Like grains of sand."**

The figure reached for his robe and pulled out what looked like an hourglass. It was wrought in fine gold, and each end bore the snarling head of an eagle. Somehow, the Emperor knew that it was his.

The top half was almost empty. Barely even a dozen specks of sand remained.

"**Almost empty." ** The figure said. **"But there is power in it yet. Like grains of sand, the belief of mankind rises around you; it doesn't matter what you said or did, what matters is that they believe in you. You won't be entierly like a Chaos God, you'll be something else. What, I am not entierly sure. There has never been a being like you."**

"**Time to make your choice." ** The figure tapped one end of the hourglass; the empty one chimed. **"On one end, death. No second chance, no return. Perhaps reincarnation at some point."**

The figure turned the glass around.

"**On the other end, ascension. You will leave this plain and become like the Chaos Gods. Perhaps you will direct your believers from afar, but you will not be able to interact with this realm again."**

"Unacceptable." The Emperor frowned. The image of Terra aflame was still fresh in his mind; the Imperium had been torn asunder by the actions of his son, and now he was dead and unable to guide mankind? He found that he couldn't leave. Not now.

Once more, he saw the guardsman who had come to his aid. He had seen a battle between gods; the clash of the Emperor and Horus. He had watched and known that the Emperor was unable to harm his own son; and yet that man, that brave man, had come to his aid. Knowing that death was certain; knowing that his fate would likely fail to tip the balance. But he had done it anyway because he was a Guardsman and his duty was clear.

The Emperor too had a duty. A duty to mankind that he would never abandon. That guardsman had followed his duty to death itself, and now the Emperor would do it beyond.

"No, I will make a third choice."

"**There isn't always a third choice." ** The figure said patiently. **"You of all people should know that." **

"That is where you are wrong." The Emperor's mind was racing; he had to find some way out of this; some loophole that he could exploit. He had never been modest about his abilities, the Emperor was in many ways a genius. Right now, he was applying all his intellect to the problem at hand, while in the back of his mind, the even that would come to be Horus Heresy was waged anew.

Battles fought, so many lives lost. His own sons betrayed and turned to darkness. All for nothing if it came to this; mankind lost and alone amongst the stars; predatory gods closing in like a school of sharks.

No...

Never...

"Belief is the key." He said aloud. "In the future, you said that the belief of billions is what is fuelling my ascension? In that case, belief is non-linear, in which case, I should be able to effect _now _what only comes to be believed _later."_

"**An interesting philosophical point." ** The figure allowed. **"But it won't work, see. If it was going to, it already would have had to have happened. " ** He paused, aware of how strange that sentence may seem to a being of linear time. **"Trust me, you don't want to go into that."**

"Belief needs a focus." He continued. Talking aloud, he found, was helping him grasp the concept, and the occasional comment proved to be useful as well. "Which is me, in this case. However, if that was true then I would already have ascended...so another focus, it only shifts to me once I let it..."

His eyes locked onto the golden hourglass. _His _hourglass. A mad idea formed, insane, illogical, but somehow so tempting. If he was alive, he never would have tried it, but he was dead and had nothing left to lose.

Well, why not? It wasn't like anyone would know if he tried and failed.

In this place, his body was only the memory of flesh. There was no real reason why, here at least, he was any stronger than a strong-willed human. However, it was the memory of _good _flesh, and he acted fast.

His hand shoot out, moving so quickly that even the robed figure was taken by surprise. Perhaps he thought that the Emperor was preparing a blow, if so, he was disappointed. The Would-Be God of Man only snatched the Lifetimer out of his skeletal fingers.

As soon as his hand closed around the cool glass; a feeling of intense pain boiled across his arm. Agony, untold raged across his soul as the Emperor desperately tried to sort the roaring current of belief that washed up around him.

_Dear Emperor, please protect my brother and all his friends in the regiment. ._

_Strike them down, My Emperor! I beg you! Heretics and scum, there's nothing worth saving! _

_Emperor, help me!_

_In the Name of the Emperor, we Purge this world!_

_God-Emperor, the pain! Please! I didn't stray! I swear, they've got the wrong man!_

The belief boiled across his mind; pulling and twisting him in a thousand different direction; a wrathful god, an avenger, a defender, a mentor, a guardian. All these things and more. He felt his soul grow rich and fat upon the feast of faith; his powers began to grow, and he knew that to continue would be ascension. What could he do with that power? Could he strike against the very gods themselves?

Yes, but it wouldn't work like that would it? He'd destroy the Gods, but he would become worse. A god does not stand alone; but is shaped by Warp itself. Even if he was not a Warp God, he would be corrupted slowly...

Eventually, just another one of the Four.

Maybe he'd destroy the old Gods, but only so that he could become the first of the new. No! He would not take that path; not ever.

But there was another! Oh yes, a third path that should not have existed; but riding high on the current of faith, the Emperor could see it. It wasn't an easy one, in fact, in some ways it was the worst one. He would not be able to act directly, but he could still guide events. His presence would still be felt, even if it meant giving in to the one of the things that he despised. Even if it meant less than a half life, there was still hope.

He focused; drawing on the golden power which he had called into existence. The belief tried to shape him; tried to morph him to fit the picture.

He was no pawn; he fought back. With mind and soul aflame. He wielded duty like a sword, his memories like a shield. Mankind would suffer. _ He _would suffer. But that didn't matter in the long run. What was it he had said earlier? He had never had time for regrets?

Well, after this he would have all the time in the world.

With a final surge of psychic power; the very universe itself was altered as the Emperor mastered the power which sought to turn him. With his will alone, he forged a new path and turned a new destiny.

It was done. He was tired now. So tired. The world around him began to fade, and soon he would return to the realm of pain.

The robed figure was impressed. He inclined his head.

"**I hope you know what you have done."**

"I do." Was all the exhausted Emperor could say. A thin tether of light had sprung into existence, tying him back to his body on Terra.

"**Why?"**

"Why not?" The Emperor echoed. "Because of the wars that my sons fought, and the wars still to come. Because of a lone guardsman who stood up when he knew that he would only die, because of everything I saw when I grasped that power. Because sometimes, you need miracles and someone has to provide them."

"**God-Emperor of Man." ** The figure said, repeating the greeting he had used.

"Yes." The Emperor seemed to sag. "I suppose I am now."

Death inclined his head. **"We shall meet again when the time is right."**

The Emperor faded away, his last words almost inaudible.

"When the time is right, I shall welcome it."

After that, there was silence. Death stood motionless. Waiting for some sign, perhaps. If he was, he eventually got it. There was a ''pop'' of displaced air. What came into existence was similar to himself, at least in initial impressions. It was a tiny robe, that seemed to be filled out by some form that went yet unseen. It floated in the air in silence and then...

_We do not understand. _

It didn't speak; it merely changed history so that it had.

_You offered the choice._

"**He choose differently."**

_He should not have been able to. There are rules, rules and duties. What you just did..._

"**I don't believe I know what you're talking about."**

_You know full well what I am talking about! He was either to ascend or to die, not live like that! You could have stopped him, even now you could still sever the link! _

"**Shall we simply say that I sympathise with his position?"**

_You...you unprofessional! _There was a burst of flame as the figure became engulfed with fire, and then quickly burned to ashes. Soon another one would take its place, but for now Death was on his own. He regarded the ash pile for a second.

"**I like doing that." ** He said to no one in particular. **"But you are incorrect. He did not dodge the choice. He merely delayed it. While his body lives, he is tied to it. His power tethered in place. Perhaps he is right and he can make a difference; perhaps the future I have seen is the one in which he did just that. I cannot say for sure, but I do know this."**

His scythe gleamed. Its edge which seemed to stretch on forever was eager.

"**As I said, in time, I shall see him again."**

**End...?**


End file.
